


i want your midnights

by preciousthings



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, John Tavares: Rookie Whisperer, Kissing at Midnight, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 14:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13250604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preciousthings/pseuds/preciousthings
Summary: He looks over at Tito, still fucking shirtless and looking through his duffel bag on the other bed, and he wants so much. He’s not sure if a midnight kiss with Tito is even in the cards for him tonight, but he wants it.





	i want your midnights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LottieAnna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/gifts).



> *if you see the your own name or the name of anyone you know, please click out and get yourself a strong drink to forget this ever happened!*
> 
> happy new year, lotts! <3
> 
> 2 fics in 2 days really is a new record for me - have some day-late new years' fic! 
> 
> thanks to h and g for reading this over before i posted! the title is from 'new years day' by taylor swift. the end notes contain some characters who are mentioned but not tagged!

Closing 2017 out with a 6-1 loss isn’t ideal. 

It’s kind of the opposite, actually. 

It’s hard, when they keep gaining momentum and then slamming on the breaks and getting blown out. It’s hard, to keep starting point streaks and have them end, go a few games without a point, and then repeat it all over again. Sometimes it feels like they’re both endless cycles. It’s an accurate representation of the entire year, honestly, and—

“Hey,” Tito says, quietly, but it still pulls Mat out of his own head. He taps Mat’s shin with his foot. “It sucks, I know.” 

Mat shrugs, standing up from the bench in his stall. “I should shower.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Mat forces a smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“You look kind of—off.” Tito says. 

“Just a rough game,” Mat says. “Nothing a shower and some Advil can’t fix.” 

“See you later, dude,” Tito says, when Mat passes him to head to the showers. 

Showering is one step closer to getting drunk. He needs that tonight.

  
  


 

Sometimes, Mat thinks the universe is testing him.

It’s always in his hotel room, because the thing about being road roomies with Tito is that he just never fucking wears a shirt. 

Mat spends a lot of time around shirtless guys; he’s a fucking pro athlete. He’s seen too many guys in too many varying states of undress. 

So it would be weird if he asked Tito to start wearing a shirt in their hotel room, because it shouldn’t be a big deal. 

But the last time Mat had a road roomie who hung around shirtless, it was Chabby, and they had sex, like, nightly. 

Chabby is hot. Tito is also hot. 

This is Mat’s problem. 

He’s into Tito, like, really into him, and seeing him shirtless all the goddamn time is really Not Good for Mat. 

He hopes willing Tito to put on a shirt through telepathy will work, but of course it won’t; telepathy isn’t fucking real. 

If he lies in bed and scrolls through Instagram long enough, maybe he won’t accidently start to stare. He’s still in his suit from the game, holding his phone above his head, trying his best to type out a text to Mitch, when he drops his phone on his face and it makes an audible  _ thump _ . 

“That had to hurt,” Tito says, laughing. 

“Just a little.” Mat’s laughing, too, even though it did hurt a little. He sits up to finish sending the text, because he’s learned from his mistakes. Another text from Mitch comes in quickly after that. 

_ You got a new years kiss barzy? :* _

Mat rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t immediately type out a reply. 

He doesn’t have a New Years’ kiss.

Last year, his midnight kiss was Mathieu Joseph, who was a pretty good kisser and a pretty clutch liney at World Juniors. The year before it was Travis Konecny. Again, not a bad kiss. 

This year, he doesn’t have his juniors teammates to fuck around with. 

He looks over at Tito, still fucking shirtless and looking through his duffel bag on the other bed, and he wants so much. He’s not sure if a midnight kiss with Tito is even in the cards for him tonight, but he wants it. 

_ Nah not this year.  _ Mat types out his reply slowly.  _ You got Matthews, don’t you?  _

The only reply he receives from Mitch is smirking emoji. Mitch having a midnight kiss in Auston Matthews is probably the least surprising thing ever. 

“Barz,” Tito says. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you have a white t-shirt? I can’t find mine.” 

Mat nods. “Check my bag.” 

Tito crosses the room to start looking through Mat’s bag. When he finds Mat’s shirt, he pulls it on. 

“Yeah, Tito, you can totally borrow it. Thanks for asking,” Mat smirks. 

“Asshole,” Tito smiles. “I can take it off it that’s what you want.” 

“No,” Mat coughs. He knows he’s blushing, but he can’t do anything about it, can’t will his cheeks to stop getting red. “Keep it on.” 

Tito goes back to his side of the room and takes a flannel off the floor to put on. Mat gets up and changes out of his suit into something more comfortable.

  
  


 

They’re only going downstairs; the hotel has a bar that the team rented out, but it’s still a party. 

Mat needs a drink. 

For once, the universe is on Mat’s side, because Tito is coming up behind him (too close, but he’s not going to think about that) with a rum and coke, and Mat has never been more thankful. 

“Thanks, bro,” Mat smiles. 

“Salut,” Tito says, raising his glass. Mat clinks glasses with him before taking a long sip. 

Tito stays there, pressed up behind Mat, while they talk to Leds.

It’s good, and Tito keeps bringing Mat drinks. Someone has those party popper things, and Mat ends up covered in glitter and confetti, which he’d probably complain about if he were more sober. Right now, he just lets Tito wipe the glitter off his cheekbone, scrunching his nose when their skin makes contact, because Tito’s hand is really cold. 

It feels more intimate than it should, in a dimly lit bar surrounded by their drunk teammates. 

John is smiling when Mat sits next to him at the bar, actually smiling, so he probably has some alcohol in him. He’s fun to be around when he isn’t more boring than drying paint; Mat means that in the most loving way possible. 

“You’ve had a pretty good year, eh, Barzy?” John asks, and Mat shrugs. 

“I mean,” he shrugs again. “I have a silver medal. And I don’t have a Memorial Cup.” 

“That stuff’s not everything, you know?”

“You have gold medals,” Mat points out. He said that so nonchalantly, like he and Ebs hadn’t combined for a goal at the World Juniors that Mat  _ still thinks about _ . The fact that he plays on a line with Ebs, and is literally having a drink with John right now, is something that 12 year old Mat would never believe. “Like, World Juniors, and fucking Olympic gold.”

“I don’t have a Mem Cup,” John says. “You got closer to that this year than I ever did.”

“We didn’t even win a game in the actual tournament,” Mat takes a sip of his drink. It has to be his fourth one.  

“You’ve been doing really well here, though. I knew you were good, but you keep surprising me with what you can do.”

“Thanks,” Mat says, and he can’t help but smile, because this is so fucking surreal, to be complimented like this by a tipsy John Tavares. “Just hope I can keep it up now.”

“You will,” John says, and he sounds confident. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Mat nods, throwing back the rest of his drink.

“Are you and Tito like—a thing?” John asks, and Mat nearly spits out his drink.

“No,” Mat shakes his head. “We’re—Do you  _ think _ we’re a thing?” 

John shrugs. “You two are really close. Ebs and I both thought—But if you guys aren’t then—”

“We’re not.”

“But you want to be,” John says. Not asking, but stating. 

Mat hesitates, before nodding. Of course he wants to be.

“Ebs said you’re acting like McDavid did in his first year, before he and Stromer’s brother got together,” John says. “None of my rookies have ever dated before, but Ebs has experience.” 

Mat’s never really been compared to Connor McDavid, but the last comparison he ever expected is  _ this _ ; being compared to McDavid because of how Mat is, like, some lovesick idiot. 

“I’ve dated a teammate, though,” John continues. “So if you ever want, like, advice. I can try to help?” 

This conversation keeps finding ways to surprise Mat, because John Tavares, who he still gets fucking starstruck around sometimes, is offering relationship advice. 

John freaking Tavares. 

Relationship advice. 

“I—Thanks,” Mat sighs.

“Go have fun, rook,” John pats Mat’s knee. “You deserve it.”

“Thanks, JT,” Mat smiles, and when he gets up, Tito is right behind him, holding two shots of something. 

“I come bearing refills,” Tito says, handing Mat one of the shot glasses. They clink glasses, and both down the shots. Whatever it is, it burns all the way down. 

He must make a face at it, because Tito is laughing at him. 

“Weak, Barzy,” Tito jokes, and Mat shoves him playfully. 

“That shit was gross.”

“Or you’re just weak.” 

“Don’t,” Mat warns, but it’s all playful. 

This is so easy with Tito; He’s just—He’s himself. He’s so happy (and a little bit drunk, but still happy) with Tito and—

Mat knows what he has to do at midnight. 

2017 was filled with maybes, and almosts, and never-quite-enoughs. 

Almost a gold medalist.

Almost a Memorial Cup champion. 

Almost, almost, almost. 

What he has now, it’s good. He’s carving out a home with a team that can’t quite pick one. He’s making friends with his childhood idols, he’s getting closer with one’s he’s already had. He’s scoring like crazy, and it kind of came out of nowhere, but it’s happening.

This is what Mat wants for 2018; no more almosts. 

Tito can’t be a maybe, or an almost, not after how far Mat’s come this year. 

He’s going to—He’s actually going to do this. 

  
  


 

Five. 

Mat downs the shot of tequila in his hand. 

Four. 

Mat takes a deep breath. 

Three. 

Mat takes a step closer to Tito. 

Two. 

Tito smiles at Mat. Mat smiles back.

One. 

Mat leans in. 

Midnight.

“Happy fucking New Year!” someone drunkenly exclaims; Mat can’t return the sentiment. He’s kissing Tito, and Tito is kissing him back—Happy fucking New Year, indeed.

“Happy New Year,” Mat says, when he pulls away. His voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough that Tito hopefully hears him over the yelling. 

“Mat,” Tito says. “Mat, you’re—” Tito cuts himself off by leaning in to kiss Mat again. It’s a longer kiss

“Why now?” Tito asks, once they’ve pulled back.

“To set a tone for 2018. Don’t they say that your midnight kiss is someone who’s gonna be in your life for the coming year?” 

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” Tito says. “I was always going to be here.” 

Mat shrugs. “I want you in my life as more than just teammates, or just bros. For a lot more than just 2018.” 

“All you had to do was ask,” Tito smiles. 

Mat blushes, dark red, but he’s thankful for he dim lighting hopefully hiding the extent of it. “I’m bad at talking. Much better at making out.” 

“Then stop talking, and start making out with me,” Tito smirks. He puts his hands on Mat’s hips and pulls him impossibly closer and—

2018 is already fucking awesome, and if he has more of this to look forward to, Mat has a feeling it’s only going to get better. 

**Author's Note:**

> other characters: mitch marner, auston matthews, mathieu joseph, travis konecny, jordan eberle, nick leddy.
> 
> come hang out on [twitter](http://twitter.com/matbarzaI)!


End file.
